


Splinters

by sevendeadlyfun



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (Comics)
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-08-29
Updated: 2007-10-12
Packaged: 2017-12-20 21:49:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/892282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sevendeadlyfun/pseuds/sevendeadlyfun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the stuff you don't see that counts. Three people, a Hellmouth, and what happens when you can't hold it together. And when you can...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Characters: Xander, Faith, Spike

Rating: NC-17 overall

A/N: This has been bubbling in my brain for awhile. It promises to be long, but I'll be updating it sporadically. This is one of those "now you see it, now you don't" things for me. So apologies in advance.

Summary: It's the stuff you don't see that counts. Three people, a Hellmouth, and what happens when you can't hold it together. And when you can...

 

Xander takes The Flats. He always does. They’ve never parceled out the town between them, or assigned patrolling areas. Too official, too Scooby, too much like times that all of them can barely believe and aren’t sure they want to remember.

But, every night Xander puts on his pretty boy clothes and a stake and goes dancing. Faith gets the cemeteries, heading out as soon as the shadows outnumber the sun’s rays. She stays out until the sun rises. So does Xander.

He winds himself though crowds, bumping and rubbing sweat-slickened flesh on too crowded club floors. Might as well make “demon magnet” mean something and if he enjoys himself a bit too much, who would know? Being touched is almost as good as being seen, but not quite as personal.

He whiles away the night protecting Cleveland’s party crowd from things that go snack in the dark. Faith, he thinks, takes out her personal demons on the real thing. They don’t talk much.

They’re not quite friends, not quite lovers, not quite here. She jumps in the shower just as he gets out and if hands wander, well, soap is slippery and the stall isn’t exactly deluxe sized. He’s not her Watcher, not officially. He’s just the guy that files reports and occasionally cracks a book.

And Spike? He can’t fucking figure out why Spike’s here, either. The only story he knows is the one Giles told him when he called to warn them Spike was coming. Angel, an alleyway, a lot of dead friends and even more dead monsters. Maybe that does explain it, maybe it doesn’t.

Spike takes downtown. Downtown Cleveland at night looks only marginally worse than downtown Cleveland during the day. Spike only says that it contains more nasties, and Xander wonders how many of those nasties he’d find in the ancient texts under Sapiens, Homo. It doesn’t matter. Getting Cleveland’s crime rate down would take more than one half-sane vampire could possibly do.

Once in awhile, he and Spike end up close. Their hands brush reaching for the same weapon and it’s damn near the most intimate thing in Xander’s life these days. The flash of something in Spike’s eyes makes Xander do it more, wanting whatever it is Spike’s carrying inside.

It’s late. He’s dusted five vamps at two different clubs, and turned down more than a few offers of easier companionship. Something about the patch makes him seems like a good prospect and he’s constantly saying no these days. Except when he’s saying yes, because a swift suck in a car never hurt, especially not from a guy whose mouth seems to have been designed by some god to suck cock. It’s always guys. He can’t handle women right now, with expectations and hopes for more than his body.

He left all that back with Anya and his eye in Sunnydale. He wasn’t in love with her, not really in any way that mattered. But without her, he can’t remember how to love. She needed him to help her be human, and now he thinks he needed her for the same thing.  



	2. Splinters 2/?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the stuff you don't see that counts. Three people, a Hellmouth, and what happens when you can't hold it together. And when you can...

Pairing: Spike, Xander, Faith

Rating: NC-17 overall

A/N: I'm shocked this is actually here. I figured it would take longer to get into a coherent form. Huh. Go me.

Summary: It's the stuff you don't see that counts. Three people, a Hellmouth, and what happens when you can't hold it together. And when you can...

 

He’s always the first one home. The others stay out ‘til the morning, fighting the good fight. Not him. He does his bit and packs it in. He can’t remember now if this is what he wants, or if he just does it by rote.

They live together, which still shocks him. Oh not Xander so much. No matter how much the boy tries he can’t quite kill the light inside him. Even living a shadow life, Xander still shines. Faith, though…

She doesn’t trust him. He can’t work out if it’s because he’s a vampire or because she doesn’t trust anyone. She’s no princess, the other Slayer. His Slayer now, he supposes, since he lives here and works here. But, never his Slayer in his mind the way that Buffy was his.

Buffy had a need, a hunger as potent as any vampires. She needed people, needed their love. He wonders if that’s what drew him in. His need reflected back, only gorged to overfull instead of constantly starving. Full bellies don’t under the passive hate that comes with never having enough, Spike thinks as his cup spins in the microwave.

The door opens and the snick of the deadbolt echoes like a gunshot. Faith is home, hours early. Disappointing night in the cemeteries or she found more than she could handle. Either is rare these days. The spell that diffused the Slayer’s power seems to have enhanced, rather than diminished, the original Slayers.

“Bad night,” he asks diffidently.

“Nah.” Faith shakes her head, dark hair rustling slightly around her face. It’s longer now, almost halfway down her back. He likes that, the same he way he likes Xander’s longer hair. Their hair has something his doesn’t, moves and twists in ways that call to him. He idly wonders what it would be like to wrap himself up in that dark pelt, let it coil around him like a living thing.

“Just tired tonight,” Faith calls out, heading towards the back of the apartment.

He thinks about that a lot. He has a lot of free time and he uses it to think. Angel’s advice, the last bit of family wisdom in a failed family. He held it together, got them out. The alleyway broke them both, somehow. Maybe it was the dead friends. He still sees them and he thinks maybe Angel does too. Watching Illyria shift restlessly from Big Blue to Fred and back again while they waited for her to die. Seeing Gunn, already broken and tossed aside like an empty bottle.

But Angel said to think. So Spike does. He thinks about being sandwiched between two dark haired, dark-eyed bodies, their heat sinking into his dead flesh. He thinks of the brush of Xander’s hand on his, and the look in that one eye. Spike wants to know what that look means.

After the alley, and a stilted reunion with Buffy, he tried to push this away. He’d had enough of being convenient. Even now, he examines all his relationships for flaws. He tries to find one moment where he was more than just there, a body to fuck or to use as a shield. There’s never enough certainty in his memories.

The door rattles again. Xander now, and Spike tries to shake away his thoughts. They’re sticky, cobwebs draped over his face. If anyone could suss out what he’s thinking, Xander’d be it. This is their third go-round as flatmates, and Spike suddenly wonders if maybe Xander is the one person on the planet who actually knows him.

“Bad night,” he asks again.

“Nah,” comes the identical reply. “Got enough baddies off the mean streets, thought I’d turn in.”

But, Xander doesn’t turn in. He stops, standing close and just looking. There’s heat in that gaze and Spike shifts uneasily. Faith is beautiful in that way predators always are, grace and musk barreling ahead of her. Xander is beautiful in that way prey always is, drops of pain and need leaking out. But, now Spike is the prey and the light pins him down for inspection.

“Bad night,” Xander returns and it isn’t a question.

“Always,” Spike says back, aiming for flippant. “ ‘M reliably informed by His Broodiness that vampires with souls only get two good nights a year. I’m saving up for a week-end of debauchery.”

“Be sure to call me when you cash those in,” Xander retorts, hand reaching out.

Spike’s skin tingles even before Xander brushes against the back of his hand. Just like that, and he’s ready, willing, and too bloody eager. His body stirring into a semblance of life, from this single touch.

Then it’s over. Xander’s yawning and stretching, skin tight over muscle and bone. A few pleasantries exchanged and Xander’s off, to shower and to sleep. Spike follows, lust stupid and groggy from a full belly. He reminds himself to call Angel later today. Maybe there’s a bit more family wisdom left in that particular bank.


	3. Splinters 3/?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the stuff you don't see that counts. Three people, a Hellmouth, and what happens when you can't hold it together. And when you can...

Pairing: Xander/Faith, Spike

Rating: NC-17 overall

Summary: It's the stuff you don't see that counts. Three people, a Hellmouth, and what happens when you can't hold it together. And when you can...

 

The house is always a little too warm for the living. Xander lies back on clean sheets, the softly worn cotton absorbing the beads of water from his shower. He always needs a shower after patrolling. Vamp dust aside, the stink of too many bodies pressed too close together offends even his nose.

The light shuffling of feet draws his attention. The draw swings open without a creak, and he beckons the silhouette closer. Propped up on one arm, he watches without words. The words will happen soon enough, and he doesn’t like to rush them anymore. He isn’t sure where his babble went. It’s entirely possible that when the Sunnydale Hellmouth collapsed, it took his words with it. He knows something got lost back there, and it’s a convenient enough excuse.

Every time this happens, and that’s fairly often, he’s struck by something new about the body creeping towards him. This time it’s the sway of hips that mesmerizes him. Like a strange Morse code, they flash out messages of their own accord.

The mattress dips, and he slides over to make room. Skin whispers against fabric until he can feel it butting up his, silky smooth against the coarse hair that dapples his body. The smaller body fits snugly against his larger one, planes and angles colliding with something entirely different.

“Good night,” he asks lightly, fingers tracing a now familiar path.

“Yeah,” Faith answers, pensively. “Dusted a few vamps.”

He nods and places a kiss on the back of her neck. This isn’t love, but he’s got a few scruples left. The last bits of gallantry demand he treat his lovers with something resembling consideration and tenderness.

“What’s up with Spike,” she asks abruptly, arching into his touch.

Xander rolls a pebbled nipple under his palm as he considers the question. He’s wondered the same thing, or a variant of it, for more years than he can remember. Evil, chipped or souled, there’s always something up with Spike. The something might change, but the sheer existence doesn’t.

“He’s Spike,” Xander finally replies. “You’re a Slayer.”

“So you think,” she pants as his hand slides down her belly,” he doesn’t trust me?”

Fingers nudge through slippery curls, curling around a soft nub. He’s thrusting forward now, the friction a welcome relief on his engorged cock. Faith’s hips circle, pushing his fingers downward. Another thing that never changes and he’s okay with it now. No preliminaries for this girl, just a nice hard pounding.

He appreciates her honesty now, in a way he couldn’t before. It might sting, but at least it’s real. She’ll never lie to him, or force him to lie to her. This is physical; bodies banging together in search of a few seconds of mindless bliss. There’s nothing here that might connect them in ways they can’t handle.

Xander pushes into her, fingers pushing forward. The soft heat swallows him, her hips urging him on. Riding the swell of her ass, he angles his fingers upward to catch and drag. She’s moaning now, face turned away. He buries his face in her hair, closing his eyes and letting his body take over.

The clench and pull of her orgasm gives him permission to seek his own. He clutches her hips roughly; need overriding any lingering pretense of gentleness. When he comes, he bites his lip to keep from sighing. It’s always good, what they do together. But it never gives either of them any real release.

“Spike doesn’t trust you,” Xander finally rasps out, eyes still closed.

He can hear her shift slightly, and knows she’s getting up to go. He remembers how terrible he felt, after their first time in Sunnydale, when she wouldn’t let him hold her. Now he’s grateful she leaves so willingly. He’s not up to pretense these days.

“He doesn’t trust me,” she whispers. “Hell, I don’t trust me.”

She’s gone, creeping out as noiselessly as she crept in. Xander reaches out and snags a tissue, wiping himself up. No noise, no evidence, no way this is his life.

Yeah, he thinks bleakly. No way.

He doesn’t have joyless almost sex with a woman he doesn’t love. He doesn’t search the eyes of a souled vampire for something to keep him going every day. He doesn’t think that maybe he’s dying by inches. No way

. 


	4. Splinters 4/?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the stuff you don't see that counts. Three people, a Hellmouth, and what happens when you can't hold it together. And when you can...

Pairing: Xander/Faith/Spike

Rating: NC-17 overall

Summary: It's the stuff you don't see that counts. Three people, a Hellmouth, and what happens when you can't hold it together. And when you can...

A/N: [](http://tamingthemuse.livejournal.com/profile)[**tamingthemuse**](http://tamingthemuse.livejournal.com/) prompt #59: desolate

 

 

She heads back to her own room, mind still cloudy with thoughts she can’t identify. Stopping outside Spike’s door, her finger reaches out to come within a hairsbreadth of touching the door. He knows, no way he doesn’t. Vamp senses being what they are, he’s probably known since the first night. So why he keeps quiet is a mystery.

She stands there, body vibrating as she strains against her own desire to touch the door. Is it the soul, Faith wonders, that makes him so silent and still? Or is that a side effect of death? There’s no clear answer here, because she hardly knows him. Even when she was taking a skin ride in a borrowed body, she didn’t see him. Touched him, teased him, and if his basement confession was anything to go by, nearly blew his mind. But, see him? She couldn’t be bothered.

She’s bothered now.

 

Spike sits in his bed, silently urging the Slayer to move on. Nothing to see here, shows over.  There’s a certain desolate luxury in this scene, the penitent longing to mortify his flesh and resisting. He hears them, smells them, and those soft sighs and whispers of flesh stir him.

When this all started, he touched himself all the time. A fingertip across his jaw, or hands braced on his knees, so he could reassure himself he was here, solid, real. Now he makes it a point not to touch anything if he can help it. Being real makes it worse, heightens the pain beyond anything he can bear.

But, nights like these drive him to seek out the pain. He wants to slither and slide his way into being real, having the solidity of warm flesh tether him to this world. And resisting that pull makes him ache. So he sits in the dark and drinks, trying to forget the desire to love and be loved, to touch and be touched.

Slayer’s still out there, heart thumping. He can almost hear her thinking, vacillating. He’s not God and he can’t grant her absolution for her sins. He’s not a priest, no matter how many of Angelus’ holy games he joined in, and there’s no penance on offer here. No forgiveness and no succor in his body. He’s done that, and feeling isn’t a adequate substitute, no matter what the children think.

Maybe it’s because she’s a Slayer, but Faith can’t resist the dark. She never feels safe in sunlight, never quite able to relax. She can’t even feel ashamed of what happens in Xander’s room because it happens in the dark. The dark is safe, and in this lightless cocoon, she feels invulnerable.

She hopes that Xander gets something from their furtive touching. He gets off, but she knows that getting off isn’t what he needs. Knows it because he told her, before the end, that she’d made him feel dirty the night she raped him. No other word for their first time except rape and she can’t make it right.

She doesn’t think what they do changes that, but maybe it does. He doesn’t picture her, doesn’t touch her in any way that matters, when they’re curled up together. That doesn’t bother her. He’s not on her mind, either.

She finally tears herself away from Spike’s door, snatching her shaky finger back. Her hands skim down her body, brushing over sensitive nipples and down over her belly. Just as she reaches the damp flesh of her cunt, the door flies open.

He’s down on his knees in front of another Slayer, and he’s cursing himself even as he dives into her. He hates her, hates himself, hates Xander, hates Cleveland. His tongue snakes between her lips to lap at the dripping flesh between her thighs. She fists a hand in his hair, hips bucking and shaking, tattooing out a rhythm he unwillingly follows.

When a stronger, firmer hand touches his cheek, he finally pulls back. Stares blankly upwards, shame roiling the desire in his gut. When lips meet his, sucking away the traces of sweetness until all that’s left is him, Spike lets go. He’s melting and burning, a strange purification that leaves him lighter somehow.

“I told you,” Xander murmurs, “I wanted to be invited.”


	5. Splinters 5/?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the stuff you don't see that counts. Three people, a Hellmouth, and what happens when you can't hold it together. And when you can...

Pairing: Spike/Xander/Faith

Rating: NC-17 overall

A/N: Another random update. Incorporates [](http://tamingthemuse.livejournal.com/profile)[**tamingthemuse**](http://tamingthemuse.livejournal.com/)  prompt # 62: **solitary confinement**

****Summary: It's the stuff you don't see that counts. Three people, a Hellmouth, and what happens when you can't hold it together. And when you can...

[ **Previous Chapters** ](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=sevendeadlyfun&keyword=Splinters&filter=all)

[ ****](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=sevendeadlyfun&keyword=Splinters&filter=all)

 

Xander’s large hands pull him upwards into a cocoon of warm flesh. Spike struggles against the comfort of the embrace. He doesn’t deserve it, isn’t sure he’ll ever deserve it.

“Ssh,” Xander croons, letting him struggle but not letting go.

Spike subsides wordlessly and allows Xander to manhandle him into bed. His thoughts drift back to that damp and dingy basement and the easy hate that ruled his life then. Sometimes he misses that, the hate and the rage. It was pure and he craves a little purity these days.

As he falls into bed, he half-hopes Xander will leave. He quivers, skin jumping, as Xander climbs in behind him. There’s nothing for any of them here, but it’s still such a pleasure to feel again. He won’t fight it, but he can’t encourage it either.

“Faith,” Xander calls out softly.

Slayer’s still out there. Spike can hear her panting, the blood pounding in her veins. Poor little lost girl, he called Buffy but he had the wrong Slayer. This one’s the lost one, a Slayer set loose in a world she was never meant to navigate. Rupes never saw that one coming. How does a myth make itself known in reality? He understands, more than he wants to.

They’re both myths, vampire and Slayer. Both tattered and torn, remnants of another time and place. He wonders sleepily if you can die from being unknown and unseen. Wonders if that’s why Xander touches them both. Is it his hands that keep them tied to reality?

Faith stands frozen, staring through the gloom at the two men in bed. She can’t leave and she can’t stay. She tried that before, reaching out and connecting with someone. At least Angel was sympathetic, wanted to help even if he didn’t want her. Robin…he just wanted a body and hers was convenient. She’d blame him if she could. But this is a trap of her own making and she knows it.

She and Spike kept the Big Bad so front and center there wasn’t any room for anything else. She thinks maybe it kept them both sane, this fake pride they flaunt. She knows it keeps her sane. Robin gave her hope. She’s still not sure she can forgive him for that.

Xander calls her again and she shivers. The sweat is drying and she’s so confused. This is definitely not part of the deal. She and Xander get off and get out; they don’t cuddle with damaged vampires and try to heal. This is their own version of solitary confinement, fucking without touching, existing without living.

Spike sighs, and shifts slightly to see around Xander. He knows what The Slayer’s thinking or at least, he can guess. Self-flagellation doesn’t leave much room for what Xander’s proposing. Living in a hell of your own making might not be pretty, but at least it’s safe. Lying safe in the dark with a good man might be heaven, but it bloody well isn’t safe.  
“Fear’s like a cancer,” he tells her quietly. “Either let it go or let it eat you alive, but make a bleedin’ decision, Slayer.”

Xander chuckles in his ear. Those little puffs of air waft over Spike’s skin and he’s shaking again. A finger grazes his nipple and Spike moans, arching into the touch.

“That’s good advice,” Xander whispers. “You ever listen to yourself?”

“No,” Spike murmurs. “I’m full of shite, so why bother to listen?”

Xander nods, burying his face in Spike’s hair. The bed dips and Spike opens his arms. Faith settles lightly, uneasily, into his embrace. Her head tips a little, baring her throat and he smiles.

“Showing your throat to the Big Bad?” he asks her. “Got a death wish, pet?”

She shakes her head and tilts her head a little more, “Gotta life wish, Spike. What about you?”

“Yeah,” he agrees, pressing a gentle kiss on her pulse. “Me, too.” 


	6. Splinters, 6/?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the stuff you don't see that counts. Three people, a Hellmouth, and what happens when you can't hold it together. And when you can...Post-Chosen/Post-NFA

Pairing: Spike/Xander

Rating: NC-17

Summary: It's the stuff you don't see that counts. Three people, a Hellmouth, and what happens when you can't hold it together. And when you can...Post-Chosen/Post-NFA

A/N: Written for [](http://southernbangel.livejournal.com/profile)[**southernbangel**](http://southernbangel.livejournal.com/)'s "Anything But" Ficathon. This is part of a series, but can be read as a stand-alone. However, if you'd like to know what's happened before now...

[ **Previous Chapters** ](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=sevendeadlyfun&keyword=Splinters&filter=all)

  
[ ****](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=sevendeadlyfun&keyword=Splinters&filter=all)

 

Spike stays still, trapped between Xander and Faith. The heat pouring off their bodies soaks into his skin and he shivers. He used to love being warm, the hotter the better. After Sunnydale, he isn't so comfortable with heat. What started with the amulet finished in that alleyway, and now he's damn near close to scrambling out of bed to find a place to cool off. The faint tang of sweat reminds him too much of charred flesh, the radiating warmth too close to a dragon's flame for comfort.

He tries to wriggle gently out Xander's embrace, but a strong hand stops him, holds him firmly in place. He gasps, a sudden inhalation of air that catches in his throat and almost chokes him. His eyes flutter shut and tries to will himself away, somewhere that all too knowing eye can't see him and strip him bare.

“Don’t go,” Xander whispers, and Spike freezes. There’s no request in those words and no hint of the boy Spike remembers from long basement nights. Those are a man’s words, commanding and convincing. Spike shrugs slightly, trying to push the large hand off his chest.

Xander’s hand moves, but not off Spike’s body. His fingers splay out, brushing lightly against a nipple. Spike flinches, a swift quake of mingled excitement and fear. He wants it and he hates himself for wanting it. The soft touch becomes a tight pinch, and the burn pulls a quiet moan from his throat.

“I always wondered,” Xander murmurs idly, “why men had nipples. I know all the biological reasons, but it still seemed like such a useless piece of flesh.”

Another hand snakes across his chest, tugging restlessly at Spike’s other nipple. He arches upward, the pain satisfying some soul deep need. Punish me, hurt me, make me bleed for you, he begs silently. Pain is the only proof of love, its constancy his reassurance. A blow is as good as kiss, and oftentimes better.

Xander uses his nipples as handles, pulling Spike around until they lie face to face. Even in the deep gloom, Spike can see Xander clearly. One brown eye stares at him, large and luminous with…what? Passion, maybe or excitement. Being Anya’s one and only sex toy must have given Xander an ample education in the delicious line between pleasure and pain. It seems that he was an attentive student.

“I watch you,” Xander tells him, fingers scraping roughly over his pebbled nipples. “I watch you and the more I see, the more I want.”

Spike winces, his belly fluttering under the sensual onslaught. He wants to stop, he wants more, he wants to know why Xander wants him. After Buffy, every encounter leads to a game of Twenty Question.  A susurrus of metal breaks Spike from his wandering and he pulls away, Xander’s nails biting into his tender flesh.

“Ah-ah,” Xander chides quietly. “Don’t move. You don’t want a cranky Slayer on your hands, right? Just lie still. If I’d known you were such a wiggle worm, I’d have tied you down.”

Spike bites his lip, holding back a desperate plea. The thought of ropes, or even chains, holding him fast, gives him a quick thrill. He’d asked Buffy for this, for the security of her bonds, and she’d refused him. She didn’t love him, not enough to keep him still and quiet, waiting for her. That it’s Xander who wants him like that confuses him, fever chills like an ice cream headache coursing down his spine and into his cock.

“Oh,” Xander breathes and the cold metal on his chest is like a balm, a wicked benediction. The second clamp digs into him, and Spike inhales quickly. As Xander’s tongue laves the sore skin, Spike groans, unable to stop himself.

“Beautiful,” Xander tells him. “You’d be beautiful, tied and waiting for me. Would you let me fuck you? Let me flog you, put pretty red marks on your back?”

Spike thrusts forward, hips snapping automatically at the thought of being lashed. Somewhere in his meager belongings is a picture of him hanging in chains, back striped and bleeding. One of the last times Angelus drew him and it was so bloody erotic, he almost comes, remembering it.

His thrusts push him into Xander, and the light touch sends a shockwave through both men. Xander growls low in his throat, a dark liquid sound that sends flares of heat through Spike’s body. Xander pull them together, their nude bodies colliding.

The sweet friction of that collision is lovely, cocks slipping and sliding on sweat and pre-cum. Xander maneuvers a hand between their bodies, pushing their dicks down until the tips are rubbing against one another. The obscene sucking and slapping noises ratchets up their desire, and Spike closes his eyes. He’s tense, frenzied, his body demanding release.

“That’s it,” Xander moans in his ear. “Let me see you. Want to watch you come for me, so hot, need to feel you, Spike. Wanna feel you come all over me.”

Xander’s voice, those sweet urgent demands, snaps the threads of Spike’s control. He gasps, his cock pulsing as streams of sticky fluid shoot from him body. Seconds later, Xander shudders beside him, and hot come splatters onto Spike’s stomach. The shudders and trembles of orgasm wash over them, leaving the two men sleepy and sated.

They drift off together, bodies pressed close. Just before sleep overtakes him, Spike hears Xander mumble, “Next time, ropes.” He smiles slightly and allows Xander to crush him closer. There was going to be a next time.

 


End file.
